A Long Ride
by Mooka333
Summary: Claustrophobia was the least of her concerns. Her weird elevator-buddy wants to rip it apart to get out, and she's pretty sure they're going to plummet to their deaths. Mal should have taken the stairs, and her laziness is costing her now.


***** So this plot bunny sprang to life involuntarily after I read a stupid Buzzfeed article where they were interviewing the cast of CACW and asked them who they'd rather be trapped in an elevator with: Loki or the Hulk.**

 **So, I mean, obviously, my mind immediately leapt to Bucky, and then the plot bunnies were off and I couldn't stop them. So, I thought I'd write this puppy out of my system.**

 **Please note that I'm completely aware that this is stupid fluff. It's also a complete different story than my others, they don't exist in the same world. As per usual, I only own my OC *****

Bucharest was not her favorite place. Mal had been forced to visit her Bunica, her Grandmother, for every single summer since she was 5 years old and had spent her entire life dreading such visits because Bunica was a terrifying woman. Nothing like Granny D, her father's mother, was. Granny D was the sweetest, warmest human being on the planet. Bunica didn't seem to know how to smile.

Now, a fully grown-ass adult of 26 years old, Mal found herself _still_ guilt-tripped into these visits. Bunica was formal, strict, and disapproving of every single thing Mal did, said, ate, or wore, but despite all of that, still pressed on Mal's mom, and Mal herself, all year round, to make sure Mal booked her plane ticket and came to visit.

This year, for the first time ever, she wasn't staying for two full months – no, stupidly, she had decided to come and work for a year, living with Bunica, and deciding to really try and pick up the language, to "re-discover" her roots.

 _All code for: your boyfriend dumped you and you got sick of Cleveland,_ Mal thought to herself, as she filed away a folder stuffed with yellowed paper, drearily. For some reason, she had imagined that with her American university degree, she'd be able to stroll into any business, any building in Bucharest, and have a fancy job thrown at her. Instead she had to scrape and claw just to work at an old, backed-up, nearly-defunct, paper-based, city clerk's office. She was technically supposed to be an administrative assistant, however, what her title really meant was, 'you speak shit-Romanian, go file old paperwork and don't talk to anyone'.

This wasn't even an extremely relevant clerk's office. It mainly dealt with old files, old forms, old paperwork, dating back to the early 1900's. It was a small office, open to the public, to those seeking old information, yellowed, crinkled paperwork with no particularly pressing relevance on today's lives. A lot of old war vets frequented the office, wishing to relive memories, or look up dates and information about themselves and their old friends and family, long after age and time had worn the information from their own brains.

The office was located inconveniently on the top floor of a run-down building, as well; Bucharest was trying very hard to become a more metropolitan, flashy tourist hotspot, and old war-time records offices were not high on the list of locations that needed ideal, prime space, or nifty renovations.

So, all in all, not Mal's dream job, or dream job location, but it _had_ been hiring when Mal had been looking for work, and that was what drew her to it – _that and Bunica knows the office manager,_ she thought to herself, absent-mindedly scratching her nose. She heard the big clock on the outside of the building striking 4 and couldn't keep the grin off her face: quitting time!

Mal trotted to the small office behind the messy front desk, punching out on her timecard before grabbing her messenger bag, slinging it over her shoulder. She waved to Claudia, her ancient-looking manager, who was just finishing checking out a file for one of the few remaining patrons, and then Mal made for the elevator. She stepped inside and reached for the button for the first floor, already planning her evening ahead. _The market first, I want more of those cookies, then the wine guy, I definitely want a huge bottle tonight. Then Netflix. Hours and hours of drunken Netflix._ The doors were just beginning to close when a hand suddenly reached between them, pushing them open.

Mal kept a fake placid look on her face, not wanting the person joining her to see just how irritated she was to be sharing a rickety, old, elevator ride with sudden company. The trip down from the 8th floor to the 1st always seemed to take forever; this elevator had to be the slowest in the country. A man stepped in, and made the very briefest of eye contact with her, before looking away.

He seemed content to be quiet and she was so relieved by this that she smiled a little. Adjusting the strap on her bag, Mal watched the numbers slowly tick down on the panel above the door, the little dial crawling from 8 to 7 to 6, before the little elevator suddenly shuddered hard, coming to an harsh stop. Mal wasn't able to suppress the sharp gasp she let out, her hands immediately flying to the railing ringing the inside of the elevator.

The man in the elevator didn't move, except to mutter something in an irritated grumble. The lights flickered then, the entire elevator groaning around them, and Mal felt like her heart was constricting painfully, aware that she was involuntarily whimpering a little. _How well are these things kept up? If the power goes, will we be trapped? Jesus Christ, will this thing drop?_

Neither she nor the other passenger moved for a long couple of minutes, each of them breathing carefully, before the man reached slowly past her, pressing the alarm button on the now-darkened elevator panel. They both held their breath, waiting for an alarm to go off, or a voice to come through a speaker and reassure them that help was coming, but nothing happened. He pressed the button a couple more times, and nothing happened.

The man pulled his hand away and Mal leapt towards the panel, mashing the alarm button several times in a frantic rush.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," she murmured, her voice mildly tinged with panic. In frustration, she mashed all the buttons on the dash, and still nothing happened.

"That won't help," the man finally spoke, his voice flat and quiet. Mal turned to look at him, surprised at hearing English, since she hadn't been expecting it. She never expected it here. His eyes moved away from hers again, uncomfortably, it seemed.

"How'd you know I speak English?" She asked him curiously, slightly relieved that she wouldn't need to be trapped in awkward cross-language conversation, or have to muddle her way through her 'shit Romanian'. He looked at her like she might be daft, one eyebrow moving up the slightest bit, before he looked away again, shrugging.

"You said 'shit'," he explained. Mal stared at the side of his face and then shrugged, herself.

"Yes, I did," she agreed quietly, "Mom would not approve." He didn't smile, but he did look over at her for a moment, before diverting his gaze again. They were each quiet, and Mal withdrew her cell phone, unlocking it, preparing to call for help.

"Oh, for god's sake," she groused, seeing that she had no signal, "Well that's it, we're gonna die in here." She looked up at him, seeing that he was watching her. She nodded her head at him. "Do you have signal?" She asked him.

He shook his head. "I don't have a phone," he answered. Mal stared at him blankly, the concept of not owning a cell phone utterly foreign to her.

"Alright then," she was all she managed to say. She regarded him closely, judging him to be at most about 5 years older than her; she couldn't figure out why he had no phone. _That doesn't matter right now, what matters is not being trapped in the freaking elevator._ Mal tucked her phone into her bag, and then lifted the bag off her shoulders, setting it on the ground.

She moved closer to the panel, kneeling in front of it, pushing on the bottom half, looking for an opening, or a cubby, somewhere where a little emergency phone could live. There was nothing, and she just ended up pushing on the alarm button a few more times before sitting on the ground, resting her back against the wall across from the panel. The man remained standing. She watched him examining the roof of the elevator. He reached up to it with one hand, pushing up on the ceiling panel briefly, before looking down at her. He dropped his hand when he saw her watching.

"You don't honestly think we can get out through the ceiling do you?" She asked, "Isn't that dangerous?" He shrugged and looked away. He stared steadily at the wall, obviously deep in thought, for a few long seconds, before he seemed to decide on something and then lowered himself to the ground, mirroring her position on the other side of the elevator. Now that he was facing her, she could really get a good view of his face, and she decided he was very good looking, except that his hair was longer than she preferred, and he was dressed a little bit ratty for her liking.

"So we're trapped in here?" She asked him, when it became apparent that he wasn't going to speak. He met her gaze then, his eyes a very bright blue, and he shrugged. "Just stuck," he clarified, "Eventually someone will fix this." It wasn't comforting, but his tone was lowered and unhurried, so she felt a little more at ease.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes, but being in a small space, they couldn't help but examine each other, since there wasn't much else to look at. It was making her bonkers, but as much as she hated small talk, Mal felt forced into it.

"My name is Malvina, Mal," she said, sticking her hand out in his direction. For a long moment he just stared at her hand, and she felt a slow burn of embarrassment on her cheeks because it seemed like he wouldn't reciprocate.

"Bucky," he replied, slowly, before lightly shaking her hand. She smiled at him. "So, you're definitely American, then," she said lightly, and he looked up sharply at her, before seeing the mildly teasing smile on her face and cracking the tiniest and briefest of smiles in return.

"With a name like Bucky, you'd have to be," she joked. He met her eyes for a moment before offering a tiny smile again. "From Brooklyn," he replied.

"Cleveland," she offered, waving a hand at herself. He nodded, pressing his lips together, and then looked away. Neither of them said anything and she began to feel uncomfortable again, and began to focus a little too much on the mental image of the two of them being trapped in an old rickety box, suspended above a huge drop.

She felt her posture stiffen a little bit, her heart beating faster, and she had to work hard to control her breathing, to keep the fear of falling, and the claustrophobia in check. Bucky must have felt the tension level in her change, because he spoke then, though it seemed like a nearly Herculean effort on his part.

"Why are you in Bucharest?" He asked her, haltingly. Mal swallowed hard at the pit in her throat and shrugged. "My mother is from here, my grandmother still lives here, so I could work here, and thought it might be a nice change of pace," she explained, "You know, do a little soul searching, typical mid-twenties bullcrap: _find myself."_

He nodded and she tipped her head towards him. "What about you?" She asked him. He smirked a little, meeting her eyes again. "Me too, _finding myself,_ " he said, his tone delivering it like it was a joke. Mal smiled briefly at him, not truly understanding, but deciding that she wasn't going to push.

"What brought you here today?" She asked him casually, her voice an octave higher than it should be. He regarded her solemnly for a moment before shrugging one shoulder and looking away. "I was just interested in some information," he explained.

Mal felt her eyebrows coming together. "Are you a student?" She asked him curiously, and he shook his head, his gaze locking on her when she continued, "It's just that people our age aren't usually interested in any of the information up here, unless they're students, and even then they tend to give up when they realize it's not computerized."

"Our age," he replied flatly, surprising her. She nodded. "Um yeah?" She said in response, "We're the instant-information generation, right?" She meant it as a joke, but he wasn't smiling at all. Mal licked her lips and ran her hands over her hair, feeling like she'd said the wrong thing, but not certain why.

Bucky just stared at her and she looked away, uncomfortable. He continued to regard her closely, and it was making her nervous.

"You're not, like, crazy right?" She blurted out, worried about why he was staring at her now. He blinked as if surprised and shook his head. "Sorry," he mumbled, "Didn't mean to stare." He looked embarrassed and turned away, his jaw clenching a little bit.

"You're Romanian?" He finally asked her, his voice halting and forced, as if trying to continue casual conversation after staring at her for so long was hard for him. Mal nodded, looking back at him, smiling tentatively, wondering if he was just a really awkward guy. _He's too good looking to be awkward,_ she thought to herself, her eyes trailing over his incredibly broad shoulders.

"My mom is, my dad is some kind of Irish-English-Scottish mix," she explained, waving a hand at her face, "Which explains the freckles and the hair." She had her mother's complexion, lovely, smooth olive skin, but with an inexplicable shower of freckles all over her face and body, freckles that were dark and stood out a lot.

She had her mother's dark eyes, but her father's deep red hair, which had a texture somewhere between wild and tumbleweed. Her Bunica hated it, always telling her she could cut and dye it, get it relaxed and smoothed. Mal couldn't be bothered, she'd learned early in life not to tango with her mop of hair, and had therefore never learned hair-coping skills. It had two settings: up or down. Right now it was up, in an explosive ponytail. The recent Disney movie with the wild-haired red-headed girl had made her pretty damn happy.

Bucky's eyes moved to her hair, a small smile on his face, and she enviously regarded his hair; too long, yes, but it was a nice dark color, smooth and flat. "Its fine," he said carefully, as if her hair required his opinion, "I think I like red hair." Mal blinked at him, not sure how to respond to that. He met her gaze and then looked away quickly, obviously embarrassed.

"Well, that's nice," she replied, grabbing her phone again, for something to do. There was still no signal, and she wondered if the freaking building was made of lead. "How long do you think we'll be in here?" She asked absent-mindedly.

"Maybe until tomorrow," he replied matter-off-factly. Mal's entire body flinched in horror.

"Are you _kidding?"_ She nearly shrieked, lurching up to her feet. He looked startled by her explosion and climbed to his own feet. "I can't be in here that long!" She cried, a million thoughts and protests rushing through her mind: _I'm hungry! What about the bathroom? I can't sleep in an elevator with a strange man right here! Bunica is going to freak out! What if it breaks and we fall? Will the air last?_

Mal turned to the panel again and pushed on the buttons frantically, before yelling at the ceiling, "Help! _Help!_ Can anyone hear me? We're trapped in here!" She slammed her fists on the door a couple times, but stopped abruptly when the elevator swayed slightly with her movements. Mal stepped back to the corner she'd been sitting in a moment before and brought her hands up to her face, covering it.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," she murmured, panicking.

"You need to calm down," Bucky finally spoke, his voice lowered and soothing, "This won't help." She pulled her hands down and glared at him. "Maybe you need to panic more!" She shot back, "We're trapped in here, and you know how this city works! It could take forever for anyone to be bothered to help, if they even notice!"

He regarded her calmly still, and Mal looked away in frustration, closing her eyes. She began to silently count backwards from 100, hoping to soothe herself a little, calm down her nerves. When she reached one, she did feel a little better and opened her eyes and found Bucky still watching her.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I guess I'm a little more claustrophobic than I thought I was." He nodded his head and looked away. "It's understandable," he told her, his eyes moving back and meeting her own, "How do you feel now?"

"Worried about the bathroom," she blurted out, without thinking. He smiled at that, an unexpected, amused smile, and Mal ended up laughing a little.

"Sorry," she apologized again. He shrugged and gestured at the door. "Valid concern," he told her. Mal watched as he stepped to the door, putting his hands on either side of the door and pushing at the edges of the doors there. One of his hands was gloved, she noted, and that struck her as very strange. He managed to push the doors open though, and that was even more amazing than a gloved hand.

"Holy crap," she muttered, "How strong are you?" He looked over his shoulder at her and she saw mild panic in his eyes for a moment, before she stepped closer, standing next to him to stare at the brick wall outside the elevator doors.

"You must work out every damn day," she muttered, leaning forward a little to try and peer down the dark crack between the elevator and the wall. The shaft below was pitch dark and she couldn't see anything. They could see a foot of each floor at the top and bottom of the pulled-open doors; not enough to squeeze through.

"Well, that didn't work," she mumbled, moving back to the wall, to lean against it. Bucky moved and leaned against the wall opposite her, staring at the opening in the door, a slightly regretful look on his face.

"I'm sorry you strained yourself for no reason," she offered him, figuring the look on his face meant he'd hurt himself, "Are you hurt?" He looked over at her quickly, his eyebrows pulled together in mild surprise. He shook his head.

"You didn't even stretch," she tried to joke, "Bet that's not something you've trained for." He managed a brief smile for her, before looking away.

"I'm fine," he offered. He said nothing, and neither did she, though she felt again like she'd upset him by saying the wrong thing, but couldn't figure out why. She stared at his arms, the biceps looked huge in his worn red shirt, and combined with his broad chest and shoulders, she wasn't honestly surprised he was capable of pulling open elevator doors. Idly, Mal wondered what he looked like without a shirt, and when he looked over at her and found her examining him, she turned beet red and turned her attention swiftly down to her bag.

 _You're such a Neanderthal, impressed with his show of strength like that,_ she chastised herself. She pawed through her bag, locating her lip gloss, and applying it to distract herself. When she looked up again, lips sufficiently glossed, he was watching her too.

"I never been stared at so much in my life," she told him, without thinking. He blinked rapidly and turned away immediately. She could see his cheekbones heating slightly. "Sorry," he muttered, clearly embarrassed. Mal felt like a huge asshole.

She took a halting step towards him, briefly resting a hand on his arm, before letting it drop. "I'm sorry, no, please don't be – god I need a social filter," she tried to explain, her attempts at placation faltering. He turned back to her and she knew own face must be burning brighter than his had been.

"I meant that I'm _also_ staring at you a lot more than I should," she blundered ahead and then stopped, mouth hanging open in horror. He blinked at her, and she saw a tiny smile pulling at the edges of his mouth in amusement.

"Please say something to stop me," she muttered, and he laughed shortly, a pleasant sound. Mal, for the first time since Nick had dumped her a few months back, felt stirrings of something good in her chest. She was, in her own stupid way, flirting with this guy. He didn't seem to mind, at least she hoped that was the case.

"This is a very small space," he offered, "And the air in here is very warm." Mal smiled in gratitude and then winced, because now it _was_ too warm. She hadn't noticed until he mentioned it. She pulled at the neck of her t-shirt and reached for the cardigan she was wearing over top of it, shucking it quickly. She sighed a little as air hit her bare arms.

She eyes up his layers of clothes. "You should take something off," she advised him, realising afterwards how that sounded, but deciding to soldier on, "Ok, I meant – you're right, it's hot, aren't you sweltering? You have like 15 layers on." Bucky narrowed his gaze and looked away, shaking his head.

"No," he replied flatly. Mal felt stupid again, and pawed through her bag some more, mindlessly, no real goal in mind. "That was rude, I'm sorry," Bucky apologized. She nodded and didn't look up, pretending fascination for her hairbrush.

"It's all good," she told him. They sat silently then, Mal eventually leaning back against the wall again and tipping her head back against it as well. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on calming her antsy nerves.

"We could get out through the ceiling," Bucky spoke, his voice cutting through the silence. Mal chuckled, keeping her eyes closed. "Yeah sure why not, then we could climb the cables to the top," she said, a laugh in her voice. He didn't reply and she cracked open an eye to see him staring at the ceiling again, one hand pushing tentatively on the ceiling tile directly above him.

"I was _kidding_ ," she cried in dismay. His arm jerked down and he turned to look at her, alarm on his face from her near-shriek. "If I push this up, and climb up there, I could push open the doors on the floor above, and we could jump down onto the sixth floor, find the stairs," he explained to her carefully, as if afraid she would scream again.

A bubble of panic bloomed in her chest at the picture he was painting. "You want me," she finally said, her voice tight and disbelieving, "To climb through the _ceiling_ of an _elevator_ and then walk across the exposed top, through a jimmied open door?" She gawked at him, now thinking he _had_ to be crazy, because he nodded at her.

"Are you off your goddamn meds?" She squawked, waving her hands at him. He eyed her, his mouth tight, and then turned away, looking back up at the ceiling critically. She watched, in horror, as he pushed up on the tile despite her protests, using both hands now.

"Holy god, holy fuck, holy shit," she muttered miserably, backing away from him, moving as far from him and that ceiling tile as possible. He glanced over at her, where she stood by the elevator panel and frowned. "Are you done cursing?" He asked her. She shook her head at him, knowing her face was slack with fear. His expression softened then and he sighed, turning back to the tile again. He had it shoved out of the way in a moment, and the opened portion of the ceiling sat dark and open, like a gaping maw.

"How do you even expect to get up there?" She asked him, as he examined the dark hole.

"Carefully," he answered without looking over. Mal felt the walls of the small elevator closing in on her, as she thought about how badly he could harm the structural integrity of the whole thing. He reached up with both hands and tried to grab the edges of the opening with his fingers, latching on quickly. As he began to pull himself up, the whole elevator car swung sickeningly.

"Stop! Stop it!" She yelled at him, her eyes darting around in panic, "You're going to make us fall!" He pulled himself up a little more, trying to get an arm through the hole. Desperation powering her, Mal lunged for him, grabbing onto the arm closest to her, to try and pull him off. The elevator car swung harder with her movements and she yelped again.

"Would you let go?" He snapped, trying to shake her off. His movements were harsh and powerful and one last swift jerk from his arm shook her off and she lost her grip, thumping gracelessly to the floor, landing heavily on her bag and breaking several things inside; she could hear them. The resulting creak from the elevator had her shuddering in terror on the floor, fully crying now, and she screamed a little bit when he let go of the hole in the ceiling and dropped down in front of her.

Lowering himself to crouch in front of her, he lightly grabbed her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – are you hurt?" He asked her, remorse in his voice. Mal managed to turn her face to look at him, knowing that she likely looked disgusting, and hoping he felt terrible because of it.

"No!" She whined, "Who cares if I'm hurt? You're just going to get us killed anyways! Maybe you should just punch me in the face and then at least I'll be unconscious when we crash to the ground!"

He grimaced and looked away. "You're really a wimp," he muttered.

"Hey!" She snapped, angry now, "Don't call me that, you lunatic!" She got to her knees and shoved at his shoulder with one of her hands, pausing briefly when she felt how rock solid it was. She met his eyes and saw they were wider than before, but she simply narrowed hers again.

"You're the asshole screwing around, thinking you're some kind of action-movie hero – people don't just _climb_ through elevator ceilings, it doesn't work that way!" She was furious now and climbed to her feet, snatching up her bag again and slinging it across her body. She stepped away from him, into the furthest corner she could, eyeing him with anger, and a little wariness.

Bucky slowly climbed to his feet, and when he looked at her, she saw just how tired he looked. He looked utterly exhausted all of a sudden. _He's likely tired of you and your whiney bullshit, you moron, so shut up before he kills you or something._ She licked her lips and leaned away when he stepped closer to her, bending a little to put his gaze on eye level.

"I'm not going to get you killed," he said in a quiet voice, surprising her. She turned her head back to him, her face surprised, and a little uncomfortable with how close he was. He seemed to sense that and took a step back, before turning back to the hole in the ceiling.

"You have to trust me," he said, "I don't want to be trapped in here, I'm getting out now, and I promise you're not going to die."

"I don't even know you," she managed to say, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be. She cleared her throat, trying to force herself to sound brassier than she felt, "How am I supposed to trust someone I don't know?"

He shrugged at her, one eyebrow popping up briefly. "Have a little faith, I guess," he offered her. He turned to the hole, and this time, instead of reaching up and tentatively reaching around, he sprang at the hole, his arms shooting up straight ahead of himself. The swaying of the elevator made her feel sick and she closed her eyes, her arms instinctively spreading out to grip the bars on the sides of the walls again.

"Please please please please, _please_ don't drop," she chanted under her breath.

"Mal?" Bucky's voice seemed to be calling to her from up above and she popped her eyes open, staring up in sheer disbelief at his face, as it leaned down through the hole. He was up on the roof of the elevator. "Are you coming?" He asked her. She stared at him and shook her head slowly, knowing that she could never do it, she wasn't a daring person, this was way outside her abilities.

"You can stay in here, that's fine," he said soothingly, "When I make it out, I'll send help for you, I promise. You will be perfectly safe if you stay in here." She nodded dumbly at him and he stared back at her for a moment, something like regret crossing his features.

Bucky's face disappeared and the elevator car swung lightly, the ceiling creaking, as he moved across it. She heard a screeching sort of noise and realized he must be pulling open the sixth floor doors. Moving cautiously, she stepped towards the pried open doors of the elevator and peered upwards, watching as the door on the floor above opened up. She could see dim light beyond and felt a flutter of terror as Bucky's dark shape stepped off the top of the elevator car and onto the sixth floor.

She envied him the solid ground beneath his feet for a brief moment, but then the elevator swung lightly from his weight leaving it. The resulting creaks and groans from the swinging filled her with such sharp fear that it felt like an icy flow of water was shuddering down her body.

"Bucky?!" She yelled suddenly, " _Bucky?_ Come back! Please! I changed my mind! I changed my mind!" She heard nothing for a moment. " _Bucky?"_ She called again, her heart sinking when she realized he was likely already gone. Mal felt like crying and backed away from the door. _You stupid coward, now you're going to die in here, alone._

"Oh god," she moaned into her hands, leaning against the far side of the wall again, "Shit, shit, shit." The elevator car suddenly swayed and creaked again and she began to cry in fear, certain that this was it, she was going to plummet any minute. She wondered if the sudden fall would make her float in the air or something.

"Mal?" She jerked her head towards Bucky's voice and saw his face in the ceiling hole again. She smiled tentatively at him, relieved beyond measure to see him. "Do you want to come up?" He asked her. She nodded at him and stepped towards him stiffly, standing below the hole.

"What do I do?" She asked him tremulously, eyeing the edges of the hole. He shook his head and then moved his own arms through the hole. "Grab my hands and I'll pull you up," he instructed her. She eyed him speculatively. "Won't I be too heavy?" She asked.

Bucky smiled at her then, a quick, brief smile of genuine amusement. "No, you won't," he promised, "Just trust me, grab my hands." Mal took a deep breath and looked around the elevator car quickly, before shaking herself and reaching for his hands, grasping them tightly. The gloved one felt as hard as his shoulder had, but she didn't pause to think about it. Quickly, fast enough to make her gasp, he pulled her up, until her head and shoulders were out the top of the hole.

"Ok, I'm going to rest your arms here, just press them down on the roof top here and then I'll pull you up more," he encouraged her. She nodded, trying really hard not to look around, not wanting to see the inside of the elevator shaft. Her legs dangled in the air below her, and she pressed her arms hard to the roof, feeling vulnerable as hell when he released her hands. It only lasted a second though, because he grasped her under her armpits and hauled the rest of her up quickly. He kept his hands there as she got her footing. Her hands flew to grip his biceps as the whole elevator car swung below them.

"You can open your eyes," he assured her, releasing his hold on her and then slowly pulling her hands off his arms. She nodded and cracked them open, choosing to stare up at him instead of looking around. "Ok, take my hand and follow me, step where I step, and don't fall back down through the hole in the ceiling," he urged her. Mal obediently took his offered non-gloved hand and then turned to stare hard at his feet.

Slowly, carefully, she followed him. Step by slow step she walked across the roof of the elevator, and then he hopped down onto the carpeted ground of the sixth floor, turning back to her and letting go of her hand, moving his hands swiftly to her waist, pulling her down off the roof quickly, not giving her time to dither.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she felt jubilant, dizzy with relief and adrenaline. "See? Not so bad," he commented easily. Mal grinned crazily up at him and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him exuberantly before pulling away and jumping around triumphantly. "Holy shit!" She cried, "I can't believe I just _did_ that!"

Embarrassed again when she heard him chuckle, she turned back to face him, mid-fist-pump. "You were very brave," he assured her, obviously lying. "I was a total chicken shit," she replied immediately, taking a step towards him and putting a hand on his arm, "Thank you for coming back for me, I don't know if I would have, if I were you."

His eyebrows came together in disbelief. "You were terrified, I couldn't just leave you," he told her, "What kind of a person would that make me?" She shook her head at him. "I'm very annoying though," she said, as if that explained it, "I wouldn't have blamed you."

He smiled at her again before turning and gesturing down the hall. "The stairs are down there," he informed her, "You up for that?" Mal nodded at him, still slightly giddy and over-enthusiastic. He took it in stride and turned, walking down the way he'd pointed. She followed him quickly, walking close to his side. She wanted to take his hand again, but realized that would be weird now.

"I'm sorry I said a lot of kind of dickhead things to you in there," she apologized in a mildly horrified voice, all the things she'd said coming back now to haunt her, "I'm not an asshole, normally."

"Just when you're afraid?" He asked. She shook her head and then peeked a look over at him and saw he was teasing her. "Just when I'm going to die in a small, ancient elevator," she clarified. He grunted out a low laugh.

They reached the stairwell then and he reached for the heavy door with the fading green "Ieșire" sign above it. Mal paused to consider just how old this building was, if there was no English "Exit" above or below the same Romanian word. Most buildings from the past 20 years included the English.

Bucky pushed twice on the handle, but it didn't budge. "Damnit," he muttered. Stepping back and eying the door. Mal rubbed her mouth and then waved a hand at the door. "May I?" She asked. He shot her a slightly irritated look, but nodded. She pushed on the door a couple time, pressing the handle down firmly each time. The door was indeed locked, maybe even barred shut somehow.

Mal took a step back and then rushed towards the door, throwing herself at it while she clawed at the handle. The noise her body made crashing against the door was a muffled thunk. Shaking her sore arm, Mal prepared to heave herself at it again, but Bucky closed a hand over her shoulder, stopping her.

"You're going to break your arm doing that," he warned her. The lights coming through the windows at either end of the hallways they were in, was dim, the sun had long set, and there didn't appear to be any light switches, so his face was cast in shadows and cool blue light.

"This is an _emergency exit_ ," she said heatedly, slapping a hand against the door in frustration, "Who locks and blocks a frigging _fire escape_?" Bucky's eyebrow twitched and he looked around. Mal watched his face and saw dawning realization on it.

"This floor is unused, look," he explained, gesturing at the row of doors, which should have led into offices, hanging open. Mal stepped away from him, heading towards the nearest door and saw that it was empty inside. Some of the blinds over the windows hung off them, askew, clearly broken. There was some crumpled paper bits and lots of dust on the floor, but that was it.

"They must want to keep people out since it's empty," she said slowly, stepping back out into the hallway.

"Maybe there's another way out," he offered. Mal turned her head to look up at him, skepticism written all over her. "Maybe," she replied, her tone indicating she didn't agree.

Bucky began walking back down the hall, looking into open doors. Mal paused only a moment, before the eerie darkness of the empty offices got to her, and she trotted after him. "I'm usually not this unlucky," she murmured, catching up to him.

"I am," he answered quietly. Mal looked over at him quickly, her eyebrows coming together for a moment when she saw he was serious. They walked quietly for a few long minutes, Bucky peering into every room they passed, sometimes stepping into the larger ones to look around. Mal had about a million questions about him, but she figured that asking them right now was probably not wise. He didn't seem chatty when it came to himself.

"Here's a bathroom," he said, cutting through the gloom. Mal paused and followed him into the short hallway he'd found. There was indeed a small washroom. She wanted to use it, but the light switch produced no light.

"Do you need it?" He asked her, his voice quiet in the dark hall. "Yeah, um, yeah," she replied uncertainly.

"Are you afraid of the dark, too?" He asked, his voice mildly amused. " _No,_ " she said, her tone offended, she turned to glare at him, but realized he wouldn't see her. She flounced back in the direction of the washroom, acting braver than she felt. She paused in the doorway, despite her show of bravery. "You'll… you'll wait out here, right?" She asked him tentatively.

"Of course," he replied easily. She wondered if he was laughing at her, but instead, put her bag down on the ground outside the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She fumbled around for a few long minutes, and when she finally emerged, she certainly felt better, though the toilets didn't flush and she couldn't wash her hands, and there'd been no toilet paper. _I'm taking a three hour shower when I get home._ Home. Thinking of home, knowing her Bunica probably thought she was long dead by now, Mal felt badly.

"I'm going to phone my grandmother, let her know I'm not dead, she'll be worried," Mal told him, stepping out into the hall, nearly tripping over her bag, "I guess I could call the police too, since we don't seem able to get out. Bucky didn't say anything, only made a noise of agreement in his voice. They walked back into the hallways, towards a window near the end of it, and Mal reached into her bag, fishing about for her phone.

She shouldn't have been surprised to find that it was cracked and broken. She landed fully on the bag when Bucky had shaken her off, and the bag had smashed in between her and the big exit door when she'd body-slammed it earlier.

"Of course," she mumbled, wanted to heave the phone down the hallway, "Of course you're broken, you piece of shit." Bucky said nothing and she looked up at him, the dim light from outside making his eyes appear dark and grey.

"So we're stuck up here," she told him. He swallowed and shrugged. "I can go give the door another try," he offered. She shrugged and they made their way back down the hallway to the door. Bucky looked over at her for a long moment, and then pushed and shoved at the door a few times. He stopped and then looked over at her for another long moment, almost like he was trying to decide something.

"What?" She asked, "I'm not pissed or anything that you can't get it open, you're not a bulldozer or Superman or anything. It's not your fault." He winced a little and looked away, putting his gloved hand up against the door. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he was debating breaking it down. _He can't, he's tried; the damn thing is really sealed up and locked up._

"Come on," she said, this time her voice the soothing one, "Let's just sit down and relax. We're going to have to ride this one out." She tentatively put a hand on his arm, again struck by how rock solid it was beneath the layers of fabric he wore. She tugged him lightly off to the side of the door, and tried to ignore the look on his face; mild alarm when she touched that arm again.

Mal let go when they were a few paces away from the door, nearer to the window, and slid down the wall, landing on the floor easily, letting out a little huff of air. She drew her knees up, hooking one arm around her knee, the other yanking her bag off and setting it down between her legs. She looked up and Bucky was standing a couple feet away, still staring back at the door.

"Earth to Bucky," she called him softly, a smile in her voice. He turned back to her, his eyes blank for a moment, before he smiled a little and sat down next to her, leaving his legs straight out in front of him. They sat shoulder to shoulder for a long while, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Mal's thoughts centered on the irritation of a broken phone, the loss of her night, how hungry she was, and how worried her grandmother was likely to be. _She'll never call the cops though, she'll assume that I, her granddaughter, the American Disappointment, is out gallivanting around, doing terrible things._ Mal sighed a little and rested her head back against the wall, tilting her neck back so she could stare up at the ceiling. She rolled her head to the side a little, eyeing Bucky, who also had his head leaned back.

She wondered what he was thinking, wondered at how his night was ruined. _What plans did you have? What's waiting for you at home?_ He was a weird guy, she was absolutely settled on that. He was disgustingly good looking, but he needed a haircut as far as she was concerned, and a shave, and maybe a little help with his laundry and wardrobe. He seemed nice enough, though, and he _had_ saved her from the box of death.

Part of her sat in the hallway waiting to hear a smashing crashing sound as the elevator broke and plummeted. Removed from the Death Box, she could see that a lot of her prior panic and certainty of death was brought on by her claustrophobia and fear of heights. _And fear of dying in a fallen elevator._ She chuckled a little under her breath and shook her head to herself. Leaning forward, she reach back and released the wild explosion of her hair from its elastic, pulling her fingers through it, root to tip, several times, easing some of the pony tail headache she had.

Mal slid the elastic for her hair onto her wrist, deciding to leave her curly mop of hair down for now, to give her scalp a rest. She glanced over at Bucky and found him staring at her, and she flushed a little, wondering how long he'd been watching her.

"So, any big plans for the night?" She asked him in a joking tone. His lips twitched a little and he looked away. "Not really," he replied, looking away. _Ok,_ Mal thought in mild chagrin, _clearly we are right back to being super uncomfortable around each other._

"Lucky for you, awkward is my forte," she told him, aloud, only half-aware that she'd meant to say that in her head.

"What?" He asked, looking back at her as if she was slightly crazy. Mal smiled a little and looked away. "You don't strike me as a terribly social guy, although you're pretty good in a crisis," she explained herself, "Which is fine, I mean I should wear a sign warning others away, unless they want to witness epic social failure." Bucky shook his head at her and looked away.

"I used to know how to talk to people," he muttered, "Especially women." The admission was surprising and she widened her eyes at him a little.

"What broke you?" She asked him lightly, surprised when he suddenly jerked his head towards her. "What?" He replied roughly. Mal was surprised by his vehement response and shrugged in an exaggeratedly casual fashion.

"My ex-boyfriend broke me," she offered lamely, "That relationship, its end – that's what did it for me – especially because he got a lot of our friends in the split."

"Oh," he said, relief in his voice. Her eyebrow quirked up in confusion. "What did you think I meant?" She asked him curiously. Bucky shook his head.

"Nothing," he replied. They were quiet for a long moment. "Bad break up for you too?" She asked him, trying to fill the silence. He said nothing in response, but then started to chuckle ruefully, looking over at her, a wry smile pulling at his mouth.

"You could say that," he finally responded. She pressed her lips together and nodded. "Sometimes, 'it's complicated' just isn't enough to properly capture it, right?" She joked. He nodded at her, the smile still on his face and Mal smiled back.

"I find drinking helps," she offered, "And food. And Netflix. And moving to a different continent." Bucky stared at her, the smile still on his lips and she had to look away. Smiles really suited his face. And since he'd more or less just admitted he was damaged goods, and she knew that she was, Mal didn't think it would be wise to get too attached to him, or his smiles.

"How long will you be in Bucharest?" He finally asked her, after a long moment of quiet. Mal shrugged without looking over. "I don't know, a year at least, probably no longer though, there's not much to keep me here after my year of escape-therapy," she reasoned, "How about you?"

"I'll stay until it's time to go," he told her easily.

"Oh," she replied, not sure how to say anything else in response. Silence reigned and Mal shivered a little; the dark brought cool air and now that they were out of the elevator and no longer walking around, she could feel the cold from the floor and the wall seeping through her clothes. She pulled her sweater out of her bag and pulled it on, shifting away from Bucky while she did so. When she leaned back into her place against the wall, her arm and his were a lot closer together than before, pressing up against each other.

He was warm, so she didn't move, trying desperately to act cool, and like this was no big deal to sit pressed up against his arm. "Do you want me to move?" He asked her, his tone halting, "You seem uncomfortable."

"No, I'm fine," she spoke in a voice an octave too high, clearly not an 'I'm fine' voice.

"You don't seem fine."

"I said I'm fine, it's just your arm; I'm not sitting in your lap."

"I didn't say that."

"Well calm down then."

" _I_ am calm," Bucky told her. She shifted away from him then and turned to glare at him. "There, is that better? I'm not touching you anymore since you hate it so much," she snapped. His eyebrows went up.

"Why are you so upset?" He asked incredulously. She opened her mouth to reply and then snapped it shut. She turned away and hooked her arms around her knees, looking pointedly down the hallway. "Because I'm a spaz," she muttered.

He said nothing, but he let out a breath and then lifted himself up a little, shifting to sit right next to her again, lifting his arm this time and wrapping it around her shoulders, his hand coming to rest against her arm. It wasn't the gloved hand, so she could feel the warmth of his whole arm and hand immediately.

"There, see?" He told her.

"Smooth move," she answered, "You really are good with women, hey?" He let out a whoosh of air. "You're very confusing," he told her honestly, "Now do you want me to move or not?" She shook her head no.

"Then settle down," he responded. She turned to look at him in disbelief, her stomach twirling a little when she realized how close his face was. "For someone so good with women, you really like to walk on the wild side," she warned him, "Telling a woman to settle down is just asking for it."

"It?" He asked, his eyebrows going up. She nodded. "You know, a slap, a tongue lashing, a beating," she responded. She realized again that they were oddly flirting with each other, and she was enjoying it. He seemed to be as well, although she was getting the sense that he thought he was doing something he shouldn't, but enjoying himself anyways.

He laughed a little and looked away. She leaned back against his arm, grateful for the warmth and the company; she was fairly certain she'd be coiled into a terrified ball, rocking back and forth and crying hysterically if she was trapped in the elevator alone today.

They sat there and she fought the urge to ruin the moment by asking him if he wanted to go out sometime. She spent so long sitting there, thinking of all the things she shouldn't say, that she eventually drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, she awoke as the first early tendrils of dawn seeped in through the window. She was slumped heavily against Bucky, her face mushed against his shoulder. She had a crick in her neck, and her legs were so stiff she didn't think she'd be able to walk again. Mal got up off him, and saw his eyes were wide open, totally awake.

"I didn't humiliate myself in my sleep, did I?" She asked, her voice gravelly. He shook his head, a small smile on his face.

"Oh, good," she muttered, turning and digging through her bag. She located her slightly smashed tube of breath mints and popped one in her mouth, handing the container to Bucky right after.

"Is that a hint?" He said quietly, taking the mints from her and shaking one out. She smiled and nodded and he put the mint his mouth.

"So, now what?" She finally asked, after sliding the mints back into her bag. She rubbed at her eyes a little, still trying to wake up. He shrugged. "Well, we either wait until we hear people in the stairwell, or we try the door some more," he reasoned. Mal nodded slowly and he climbed to his feet. Bucky stuck his hand out towards her and she smiled before taking it, letting him pull her to her feet.

She watched him experiment with the door, pushing on it again and again. His face tight with frustration. He glanced over at her and she widened her eyes a little. "What?" She asked him. He sighed and waved down the hallway.

"You may as well go to the washroom or something, this could be awhile," he suggested. Mal yawned and then shrugged. "Sure, why not," she replied, surprised at his suggestion, but glad he'd mentioned it.

He opened his mouth like he might say more, but instead just gave her a small smile, his eyes meeting hers. Mal smiled back and then headed down the much lighter hallway, shooting the elevator a wary look as she walked past it. The bathroom was still dark, though she left the door propped open a little bit with her bag this time. She heard a tremendous cracking noise from down the hall, which made her twitch in surprise.

Hurrying to finish up, Mal grabbed her bag, assuming that Bucky must have opened the door. Out in the hallway, she couldn't see him anywhere, and as she drew closer to the door, she could see that it was indeed opened. The stairwell on the other side was lit by the regular intervals of lights along the walls. She couldn't see Bucky.

"Bucky?" She called out tentatively, listening to her voice echo. She felt suddenly really stupid. _Of course he was never interested in you, he was just trapped with you. He couldn't even wait for you when the stairwell was finally accessible._ She felt deflated, until she heard voices below, a lot of them. Suddenly a handful of police officers were running up the stairs, calling to her Romanian, calling her name specifically.

Sighing, Mal called back, her voice halting, her Romanian as shitty as always. " _I'm here, I'm here,_ " she called back wearily, trudging out into the stairwell. They grabbed her arms gently and led her downstairs. She managed to pick up that her grandmother had called them, assuming she was dead. " _The elevator attacked me,"_ she told them, " _It was sick and bad, and I stuck a man with me."_

They gave her weird looks, but they seemed to understand. Down below, she gave a broken statement, and watched as a repair truck was called. They asked questions about the other person with her, but she told them he had gotten the stairwell door open and left her behind. " _He was not my brother, he had a bad taste from me,"_ she tried to explain, but the officers shrugged, seemingly just happy they'd found the 'lost' girl.

She was given a ride home, where her frantic grandmother gave her a surprisingly tight hug before dragging her inside. "Bunica, _I'm dirty and tired, food and more sleep makes me happy,"_ she tried to explain, too exhausted to try and watch her grandmother pretend she couldn't speak English.

Her grandmother nodded, shoving her towards the bathroom, then giving her a huge plate of food, before shoving her to bed. Mal listened as she changed into pajamas, as her grandmother spoke with Claudia, her boss, explaining what happened, and that Mal needed to recover.

Laying in her bed, Mal stared up at her ceiling. She felt stung still that Bucky had opened the door and taken off without even saying goodbye. _He just missed the cops too, they could've given him a ride home at least._ Shaking her head, Mal tried to forget about him and sleep.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Mal pinched the fabric at the side of her sundress, pleased at how well it was fitting her lately. In the month since the elevator incident, she'd started taking the stairs. Always. Everywhere. She attempted the elevator once in a building downtown, but felt like she might barf and pushed out before the doors closed, mystifying the people she'd shoved out of the way. _Being a coward does wonders for the waistline._

She was in the market, enjoying her day off. The sun was out, and although it wasn't hot out, it was pleasant enough for a dress and that made her happy. She swung her little bag of fruit, which she'd picked up to eat while she walked around the city. She enjoyed seeing the city, as if she were a tourist – it kept her busy, made for some great photo ops, and got her away from Bunica for the day, which suited them both fine.

Mal made her way out of the open marketplace, heading towards a grassy spot just outside of the paved area. She liked this little space, a small slice of nature in the city, shady, full of trees, bushes and flowers. She felt secluded when she sat in there, but still connected, which was nice. Mal threw down her light jacket, sitting carefully on it, her bag of food and purse next to her. She had her hair down that day, having woken up to a nice hair day for once. The breeze carried over her uncovered shoulders and her bare legs, and she closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the feeling.

"Hey," a voice spoke to her, from close beside her. Mal jumped and jerked away from the voice, turning in alarm to find Bucky lowering himself to sit next to her. She blinked several times in shock, her mouth opening and closing in gawping surprise. His eyes ran over her quickly, shyly, like he wasn't supposed to, taking in her hair, her flower-patterned dress, and her walking shoes. Mal swallowed and then looked away from him abruptly. Today he was wearing a blue shirt and a blue hat.

"I should slap the shit out of you," she finally managed to reply in greeting.

"I'm sorry," he answered, "I didn't want to leave you like that."

"But?" She snapped, swivelling her head back to him, waiting for more.

"But what?" He asked, bewildered. She got to her knees, meaning to climb to her feet and march away. His hand reached out, tentatively grasping her forearm, halting her.

"Don't go," he said quietly, "Please."

"Bucky, you left me in a dark, empty building, alone, after I had nearly died of fright like ten times the night before," she nearly growled at him, shaking off his hand, but lowering herself, sitting on her heels this time, so she could leave quickly if she wanted to. He nodded.

"I did, I'm sorry," he answered.

"What if the police hadn't come just then? I would have just blundered down the stairs, out into the almost dark city, to walk home alone," she said, her ire heavy in her voice.

"I knew they were coming," he blurted out then, wincing as he did, "You were fine, I wouldn't have left you if they weren't almost there."

She blinked at him. "How did you know?" She asked him in disbelief.

"I heard them coming," he explained flatly.

"You heard them," she stated, "From inside the building, six floors up, you heard them coming ten minutes before they showed up?" It was clear from her delivery that she thought he was full of shit.

He scratched his face of a moment, nodding as he looked away. "Yes."

"That's ridiculous, how stupid do you think I am?"

Bucky turned knowing, slightly hard eyes to her. "You don't need to understand the how, but I thought you deserved to know the why," he told her.

"Who the hell are you?" She asked after a moment, suddenly wondering if he was a criminal or something. "Is that really important?" He replied, his face expressionless.

Mal looked away and sighed, her hands absently smoothing her dress over her knees.

"You look pretty," he told her suddenly, his voice still quiet. Mal felt her face and neck flush as she turned back to him, one eyebrow going up in surprise. "Um thanks, but I'm still mad," she explained. He nodded and climbed to his feet, reaching into his shirt's front pocket, pulling out sunglasses and sliding them on. He looked down at her and held a hand out to her.

Sighing at her own stupidity, she grabbed her bags and coat and took his hand. He pulled her gently to her feet and kept hold of her hand. "Can I repay you with a coffee or something?" He asked her. She adjusted the strap of her purse and slid her own sunglasses on.

"Fine," she muttered, trying to hide her eagerness. He chuckled and led her out of the trees.

"You're a weird guy," she told him as they walked down the street, his face hardly visible between the hat, the sunglasses, and his hair. "Really?" He responded, his tone seemed to have a laugh in it.

"I feel like you're probably going to disappear on me again," she said wryly, only half-joking.

"I probably will," he replied, not joking, "I apologize in advance." She stopped walking and he came to a halt, turning back to her, their hands still joined.

"I don't love that you said that," she told him, her voice bordering on hurt. He stepped close to her, leading her backwards until they were in the doorway of a store that hadn't opened up yet, out of the way of the foot traffic.

"I can't explain a lot to you," he warned her in a low voice, "I just can't." She looked back and forth between his eyes for a moment.

"Why?" She demanded. He looked away, scanning the people on the sidewalk for a moment. "Because I can't," he told her, "I like you, can we just have coffee?" She nodded and then shook her head.

"Are you like a spy, or a criminal, or something?" She pushed, unwilling to let this go easily.

"Or something," he answered cautiously. She thought about it for a moment and thought that maybe after her ex-boyfriend and that whole disaster, she could use something fun and daring; something that dripped with 'temporary'.

She turned back to him and pushed her sunglasses off her face, up into hair, and then reached forward and pulled his off his face. He didn't move when she leaned up on her tip toes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. He returned it like he had forgotten how.

"Alright," she replied when they broke apart. Bucky smiled at her and they slid their sunglasses on again, stepping back out onto the sidewalk.


End file.
